by Lucy Monroe
“You’ll not use yourself as bait. ”
Belle did not look in the least intimidated by his bellow. She perched on the edge of her chair, excitement radiating from her very being. She thought it a great adventure. He knew better.
“There is no need to shout, Ian. It is a perfectly sound plan.” Her certainty did nothing to soothe his temper.
She wasn’t going anywhere near Renton. “’Tis a daft plan and that’s the truth of it.” Her brows drew together in a frown. “Insults are no more necessary than your bellows, Ian MacKay.”
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to lock her in her room. His fury at discovering her gone when he came to call had only increased upon hearing her plan to catch Thorn and Renton. Did the lass have no concern for her safety?
Hamilton caught Ian’s attention. “It is not such a bad idea. We will not allow her out of our sight. She will stay on the bench. When Renton makes his move, we will be there to catch him.”
Ian turned the full force of his glare on Hamilton. “Your sister does no ken how to stay out of harm’s way. She’ll get up and follow Thorn somewhere foolish. ’Tis no to be thought of.”
An outraged gasp issued from Belle’s lips. “I will not follow Thorn anywhere. Ian, do you think I am so lacking in common sense?” An honest answer would get her more riled, so Ian said nothing at all.
She would not be deterred. “Do you trust me?” Aye, he trusted her with his life, but not her own. “Belle, ’tis no a matter of trust. I canna allow you to put yourself in danger in this manner.” He thought he was being perfectly reasonable. She looked ready to throttle him. She stood up and faced him, mere inches from his body. Thoughts totally unrelated to their argument filled his mind. He wanted to pull the pins from her hair and tunnel his fingers into the silken mass. Then he would kiss her until she begged him to do more. His hands would slide down her body to cup her bottom and pull her thighs flush with his own.
She stamped her foot. “Do pay attention.” She glared at him. “The least you can do is give me the courtesy of listening when I am yelling at you.” He smiled. Aye, she was yelling all right.
“As I was saying, you do not need to allow me to do anything. I am a grown woman and perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”
“Nay.”
“Do not be so stubborn. This is important. We must deal with these vermin now. I do not want another heiress caught in Squire Renton’s foul grasp.” Ian sympathized. He did not want Belle caught in the squire’s lecherous plans either.
Not able to stop himself, he pulled her close. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear. “I dinna want you hurt.”
She sighed. “I know. I promise not to follow Thorn anywhere. I will stay on the bench as if my skirts had been tacked to it.” She played with the buttons on his coat.
“Please, Ian.”
He knew he was beaten. Taking her chin, he tilted her head up. “If you stand up to stretch, I’ll be there by the time you sit down again.” She nodded her head against his hand.
He lowered his head and gave her one, brief, hard kiss to seal their pact.
She blushed. “Ian, we are not alone.”
Hamilton cleared his throat. “So, it is settled.” Ian released Belle and faced Hamilton. “Aye.” He did not like it, but he had agreed.
Lady Beauford entered the room. No longer green in the face, Lady Hamilton followed close behind.
Hamilton rushed to her side. “All is well?”
She smiled at her husband. “Aunt Griselda took great care of me and I’m feeling much better now.”
He nodded. “I will not shout at you again. I did not mean to make you sick.” She laughed. “Robert, my love, I believe the carriage ride and running into Mr.
Thorn had more to do with my indisposition than your anger. Although, I would think that you and MacKay would be pleased that Annabelle and I snuck out to do some shopping. Mr. Thorn would never have approached us otherwise.” From the look on Hamilton’s face, Ian assumed the other man dinna think any more of his wife’s argument than Ian did. It would take him longer than the cold season in the Highlands to get over the fear that had washed over him when he arrived at Lady Beauford’s to find Belle missing.
Later, dressed in the livery of Lady Beauford’s coachman, a muffler over the bottom half of his face, Ian sat in the carriage while Belle perched on the park bench. Her soft hazel eyes darted around, alight with interest. He growled. She looked for all the world like a woman waiting for her lover, not some demented, blackmailing blackguard.
Unrecognizable in the guise of servant out for an evening stroll, Hamilton sauntered through the park, not far away.
Ian kept a wary eye on the crowd ebbing and flowing around Belle. Renton could not have chosen a better time for the meeting. With the customary throng in the park, he would be difficult to spot.
His eyes alert for any sign of danger, Ian stiffened at the sight of two heavyset men approaching Belle. They were dressed as typical men about the Town, but something did not ring true. They moved with the swaggering gate more commonly seen down at the docks.
Ian was already jumping down from the carriage when one of them put his hand over Belle’s mouth. Her body went limp. Ian bellowed a denial. He would kill the whoreson.
The other man swung around to face Ian. The ruffian dropped into a fighter’s stance. Ian did not break his stride. He struck out with his fist and the ruffian flew backwards. The other man dropped Belle back on the bench to face Ian.
“I’ll teach you to get in me business.” He pulled a knife from his boot.
Ian smiled. The man lunged, but Ian was quicker. He kicked the other man’s hand and the knife went flying. Belle’s attacker snarled. He drove forward. Ian waited until the other man was almost on him before driving his fist into the man’s face. He heard bone crack and knew he had broken the man’s nose. Shaking his head, the man stood facing Ian. His eyes were lit with bloodlust. Ian did not care. He would kill the whoreson before he touched Belle again.
Hamilton reached them.
“Take Belle to the carriage,” Ian ordered.
Hamilton swung Belle up in his arms and headed for the carriage.
Ian did not turn his attention away from her would-be abductor. “Where’s Renton?” The man glared. He took a swing at Ian. Ian was done playing games. He caught the fool’s arm and used it as a lever to force the man around and down to the ground.
“Ow, you’re gonna break me arm.”
Ian moved close to the blackguard. “I’ll break your neck if you don’t tell me where I can find Renton.”
Sweat broke out on the man’s brow. “Don’t know no Renton. A friend from the stews give me this job. Said it would be a breeze.” The tough’s voice had taken on a nasal quality from his broken nose.
“Who’s your friend?”
When the man did not answer immediately, Ian twisted his arm harder. “Thorn.
Chester Thorn.”
Ian stood up, dragging the man with him. “Where are you takin’ me? I didn’t sign on for no fight with a bloody nobleman.”
Ian ignored him. He dragged the man past where his friend lay still unconscious in the grass.
“Eh, what about me friend. He’ll get his pockets picked if you leave him lying about like that.”
It was a far better fate than the thug deserved. When Ian got to the carriage, Belle’s eyes fluttered open. Hamilton breathed a sigh of relief.
Ian’s fear spilled over in furious accusation. “Ye said it was a sound plan. Ye wouldna move from the bench.” Even as he yelled at her, he knew he was angry with himself. He had agreed to the plan against his better judgment.
Hamilton pulled a pistol from his coat and took charge of their prisoner. “Sit there.” He pointed to the bench across from him and Belle. “If you so much as sneeze, I’ll blow a hole through you.”
The scum looked like he believed Hamilton. He climbed into the carriage and sat down, nursing his arm.
Ian
wasn’t finished glaring at Belle. He had almost lost her, again. ’Twas enough to drive a man mad. He reached out and brushed a curl from her face. Ian recognized the sickly sweet smell of chloroform his brother had used when they were children for his bug collecting.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
Belle nodded. Then shook her head violently. “I’m going to be…” Gagging cut off her speech.
Ian swept her into his arms and deposited her outside the carriage. He held her while she heaved.
He waited until her retching finished and then handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her face. “That is foul stuff.”
He soothed her back. “Aye.”
She leaned back against him. “I want to go home.”
“Are ye well enough to travel?” he asked.
“Yes.” She sighed. “You are still upset.”
What sane man wouldn’t be? “How can you tell?”
“Your Scottish burr gets thicker when you are angry.”
’Twas a nonsensical thing to be discussing, but his love was still hazy from the chloroform. He lifted her back into the carriage.
He turned to Hamilton. “If he looks at Belle, shoot him.” Hamilton acknowledged the order with an inclination of his head. The tough made a production of turning his head to look out the side of the carriage. Ian jumped into the
coachman’s seat and set the horses in motion. When they arrived at the townhouse, Ian insisted on carrying Belle inside.
Hamilton locked their prisoner in the pantry. They would see him in the hands of the magistrate later.
After leaving Belle in the capable hands of her aunt and sister-in-law, Ian and Hamilton went in search of Thorn.
* * *
It had been much too close. If William hadn’t insisted on Thorn going with the two fools he had hired to abduct Lady Annabelle, William would have been waiting inside Thorn’s lodgings when the angry Scotsman and Lady Annabelle’s brother came riding up. Instead he had been sneaking around the back alleyway and had barely taken time to glimpse the two gentlemen on his flight from Thorn’s lodgings. They wouldn’t find much there. No one knew of his connection to Thorn. No one except Thorn, and dead men could not tell tales.
Lady Hamilton must have told her husband about the blackmail. She had ruined his plan and he would have his revenge. First, though, he would get vengeance on the laird for besting him. No one bested Squire William Renton without paying dearly for the privilege.
Chapter Eighteen
Annabelle shivered, but it was not from cold in the cavernous sanctuary of St.
Georges. Apprehension caused Annabelle’s skin to prickle with gooseflesh as she stood at the back of the church clutching Robert’s arm. Everything had taken on an unreal quality when he and Ian had returned the evening before with the news that Mr. Thorn was dead.
Annabelle’s heart raced with the fear that by marrying Ian, she was exposing him to the dangerous plans of a madman. She had tried to persuade Ian to wait on the wedding until they could track down Renton. Ian refused. The only change he had been willing to make in their course of action, indeed demanded they make, was that they were to leave for Graenfrae directly after the wedding breakfast.
He would have left right after the wedding, but even Ian could not move Aunt Griselda once her mind was set. Annabelle’s aunt was determined to give her a proper wedding breakfast, even though she could not have a full-blown society wedding.
At some signal that Annabelle did not see, Robert stiffened beside her. He laid his gloved hand over her own and squeezed her fingers. “You are doing the right thing. Do not fret.”
His words did little to tamp down the fear that threatened to spiral out of control. The few guests that Ian had allowed and Aunt Griselda had insisted on watched her formal procession down the aisle. Ian stood next to the priest, Ceddy at his side. His eyes rested on her with an intensity that both calmed and disturbed her. It made no sense, but there it was.
Within moments, the source of Annabelle’s fear stood beside her. He turned her insides to jelly. She loved him and this marriage would put him in danger. Certainty about that fact made her knees grow weak as she listened to Ian make his vows.
His voice did not waver as he promised to honor, protect and cherish her. Gazing into his eyes, she almost missed the fact that he had arranged with the priest to leave out
the vow of love. Had she thought about it, she would have expected it. Ian would not vow what he could not deliver.
Her fear returned tenfold only now it centered on the knowledge that Ian had just circumvented his wedding promise to love her. It did no good to remind herself of her battle tactics.
Right now all she wanted to do was retreat.
As the priest asked her if she would love, honor and obey, she entertained thoughts of dashing from the church. Ian must have guessed the direction of her thoughts because he put a hand on her arm and squeezed, encouraging her to answer the priest.
“I…” Her voice came out like a croak.
Ian frowned at her.
Looking around wildly, she sought a means of escape from her fear. Her eyes caught those of Diana. Her friend smiled and winked. She mouthed the word, “Remember” and pointed unobtrusively to Robert, who now stood at her side. Annabelle sucked in air, telling herself that Diana was right. Ian took her hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. The fear left. She sighed. It was going to be all right. Diana had survived this ordeal, Annabelle would too.
Taking a deep breath she spoke clearly. “I do so promise.” And then not being able to help herself she added, “Although, I don’t believe I’ll be very good at obedience, but I will try.”
Why not? Ian had refused to vow to love her. At least she had promised to try. Surely she should not be expected to blindly obey her husband. She would of course obey him when he was right.
Annabelle ignored the sound of her brother choking behind her. Sneaking a peek at her groom, she was relieved to note that rather than glaring his face now wore an amused smile.
“I’ll help you, lass,” he promised, his voice low enough for only her and the priest to hear.
And I’ll help you learn to love me no matter what you promised, she mentally vowed.
Annabelle repeated the rest of her vows without hesitation. She spent the remainder of the service kneeling next to Ian, acutely aware of the fact that he was now her husband.
The priest gave the benediction.
Taking her arm, Ian led her from the church. His tiger stood ready with the carriage.
Lifting Annabelle by the waist, Ian set her inside. The coward in her rejoiced when she saw that her magnificent gown of white silk took up the entire seat around her. Her relief turned to irritation when Ian brushed the folds of fabric aside and took his place next to her.
“You will crush my gown.”
He shrugged and lifted her into his lap so that her skirts fell over both their legs. She gasped. “This is not what I meant.”
He laughed. “I ken.”
Raising her chin, she frowned at him. “You think my irritation is amusing, husband?”
His eyes turned serious. “Say that again.”
“You want me to repeat my question?”
“Nay, call me husband again. I like it.”
Annabelle could not hold her frown. His admission melted her insides. “Husband, do you find my annoyance amusing?”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“You wanted to sit alone.”
She could not deny his charge. She shrugged.
“You are nervous.” He made the words sound like an insult.
“This may come as a complete surprise to you, Ian, but many brides are nervous on their wedding day.”
The laughter was back. “Aye, but do these same brides consider leaving the church in the middle of their wedding?”
“How did you know?”
“The way you kept looking behind you at the doors gave you away. I wasn’t sure
you were going to go through with it.”
“Neither was I.” The admission slipped out.
“What made you?”
“I realized that if other women could survive the ordeal, so could I,” she admitted.
Ian didn’t like her answer. “You think marriage to me an ordeal?”
“You needn’t shout. I said my vows.”
Her words did not appease him. His scowl grew fierce. “Aye, but I can’t help but think you wish you hadn’t.”
The words shocked her, but the uncertainty in his tone surprised her more. Ian might not love her, but he cared whether or not she wanted to be married to him.
“I do not wish any such thing. Do you think I am such a nick ninny that I would have said my marriage vows otherwise? Now, stop your glaring. It’s very rude to scowl at your wife on her wedding day.”
Ian’s face relaxed. “Is this an English dictate?” His teasing tone was like a gentle caress.
“No. It’s my dictate.”
He smiled into her eyes and moved his mouth closer to hers. “Kiss your husband, lass.”
“Is that a Scottish dictate?” she whispered. Annabelle’s lips were a mere breath from Ian’s as she spoke. She imagined that she could feel her breath caress his lips.
“Nay, ’tis my dictate,” he growled before lowering his mouth to hers.
They arrived at Lady Beauford’s townhouse moments later. Annabelle scrambled to get off of her husband’s lap before the coachman opened the door. He laughed at her attempts to straighten her appearance.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll not have everyone privy to you kissing me.”
“Dinna think they will be shocked, we are married.” His words did nothing to settle her mind. Among the ton, marriage was hardly license for affection. Annabelle had seen more tolerance shown for the fawning affection of a Cicebo than that of a husband.
As they entered the drawing room to join the wedding guests, Ian leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Wife, your cheeks have the hue of your aunt’s roses.” She felt warmth invade her insides at the word “wife”. No wonder Ian had made her repeat herself. It felt wonderful to know that from this day forward her life was intrinsically linked with his. She shared a relationship with her arrogant Scotsman that no one else ever would.
